


Sherlock: Tears

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Painplay, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are tears of happiness and tears of sadness. There are tears of pain and pleasure. Mycroft Holmes is crying for a number of reasons. And they all involve Gregory Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

The tears rolled freely down Mycroft Holmes’ face and for once he didn’t stop them. He’d only cried six times in his life.

The first time was when he was beaten up at school for being different, for being smart and gay and a little fat.

The second was when Sherlock fell from a tree and broke his arm. The seven-year-old had bawled his eyes out and Mycroft had cried with him, so worried about his little brother.

The third time was when Mycroft’s first assistant was killed during a routine meeting. Mycroft had been the target but Colin had died. Mycroft had held him as the young man groaned and whimpered and cried, begging not to be taken, begging to be given another chance. Mycroft just held him, tears mingling with Colin’s even after the boy had disappeared forever.

The fourth time was when Mycroft lost his virginity. It had been tears of lust and pain and pleasure and happiness. Later he’d hold back the tears when Richard left him for a better looking man and Mycroft vowed to never love again. But at the moment, lying in another man’s arms, they were tears of joy.

The fifth time was when Father died. He and Mycroft had never really got on; Father wanted Mycroft to be Prime Minister, to make a public name for himself. Mycroft preferred pulling the strings from the dark. He liked manipulating government officials and having Britain run the way he wanted from the sidelines. Because of that Mycroft and Father didn’t speak for ten years. At his funeral, Mycroft shed silent tears alongside Sherlock and Mummy and whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

The sixth time was when Sherlock OD’d and Mycroft hadn’t been there to stop it. He had been contacted when Sherlock was admitted to hospital by a DI Lestrade. Mycroft had rushed there to find his little brother hooked up to machines and unconscious, skinny as a twig with bags under his eyes and track marks on his arms. Mycroft had tried to blink back the tears, hadn’t wanted to cry in front of another man. But he had. And Lestrade had stood there with him and cried himself.

Now... well now was the seventh time Mycroft was crying. And it wasn’t because his brother was in trouble, or because a family member had died or because Mycroft had finally had sex after twenty years of waiting. No, now he was crying because he was lost. He was angry and scared and just so sick of pining.

Pining, yes, Mycroft Holmes was pining. For the same man who’d seen him cry the sixth time. It had started quickly but progressed slowly, these feelings Mycroft had. After comforting Mycroft in the hospital room all those years ago, Mycroft had turned to fully appreciate Lestrade’s looks.

A handsome man, prematurely grey, with dark brown eyes, a boyish face, and a body to die for. Handsome? Yes. Adorable? Most definitely. Fuckable? Well... Mycroft tired not to go there.

But he did, well his body did. Over and over again, whenever he and Lestrade were near each other, Mycroft’s body had a mind of its own. He felt his heart rate increase, his cock twitch, and a rush of endorphins blur his mind. But he ignored them all, each and every one of them, for quite a few reasons.

1\. Lestrade was straight.

2\. Lestrade was married.

3\. Even if Lestrade wasn’t straight or married, he would never go for Mycroft Holmes (who would?)

4\. He worked with Sherlock.

5\. He just... he wouldn’t, alright? Lestrade would never go for Mycroft.

Mycroft wasn’t good-looking or interesting or funny or... anything. He was smart and rich, those were the only two things he had going for him. And men like Greg Lestrade weren’t interested in those things.

So Mycroft pushed his feelings away and focused on keeping Lestrade in his life because he couldn’t _not_ see the DI.

Fresh tears coated Mycroft’s cheeks and he curled up on his expensive couch, hugging his knees close. It had been years since Mycroft had had a good breakdown, years since he’d let his anger and own self-worthlessness takeover and cloud his mind. But he’d had a bad day, Sherlock had teased him about his weight again, and not all his meetings had gone according to plan.

And then there had been Greg, willing to share a smoke and a laugh and a smile. And it had been too much. Mycroft had left, had walked away to Greg shouting for him to come back. He’d come home to an empty and dark flat, had stripped off his coat and jacket and waistcoat, leaving a trail of clothes to the couch which he promptly fell on.

The tears had been a surprise but Mycroft hadn’t pushed them away. No, he let them fall. He let them fall because he was so very tired of Sherlock getting everything he wanted while Mycroft was left to pick up the pieces. Tired of work and being the steely government official.

Tired of wanting Gregory Lestrade and not getting him.

Mycroft sniffed, eyes feeling bruised and body shaking. He hated crying. It was disgusting, for one, and truly undignified. It made his eyes puffy and his lips tremble. It made his face look paler then it already was and he needed to spit and whimper and all kinds of ungodly things not befitting a man like himself.

But he couldn’t stop it, didn’t really want to stop it. He needed a good cry, needed to get out all the anger. It probably wouldn’t help anything. Even after he cried and pulled himself together his situation wouldn’t change. Greg would still be unattainable and Mycroft... Mycroft would be pathetic.

Suddenly there was a knock at his front door followed by someone leaving their finger pressed annoyingly against the buzzer until Mycroft wanted to murder them. He could get away with it, he was the British Government.

But he couldn’t face whoever it was, not in his current state. It wouldn’t do well for anyone to see the British Government curled up crying on the couch like the pathetic mess he really was.

The buzzing didn’t stop, nor the knocking, nor the shouting that had now started. Mycroft pulled a pillow over his head, trying to crush the noises and let himself be swallowed by the pool of anger and hurt and–

The pillow was lifted from his face and Mycroft blinked through his salty tears.

‘Mycroft, why are you crying?’

It was Greg. Why was it Greg? What was he doing here, in Mycroft’s flat? How’d he get in? Why... why...

‘What are you doing here?’ Mycroft asked, confusion mixing with anger and sadness, the words coming out a throaty whimper.

‘Sherlock texted me.’

Mycroft looked at him and Greg sighed, pulling out his mobile. He pressed a few buttons before turning to show it to Mycroft.

 

_My brother needs you, I will give you a key – SH_

 

Mycroft groaned. Of course. Sherlock had been nearby when Mycroft had just about burst into tears at the crime scene. And of course he’d noticed how absolutely in love Mycroft was with Greg.

But he’d actually texted the DI, had given him a key, all so Greg could comfort Mycroft.

‘I’m fine, I don’t need you,’ Mycroft said.

‘Then why are you crying?’ Greg asked, sitting on the coffee table. Mycroft didn’t even have the heart to tell Greg that coffee tables weren’t seats. ‘Why are you alone, in the dark, ignoring your phone and doorbell?’

‘I’m not,’ Mycroft mumbled a bit stupidly, seeing as how his cheeks were wet and fresh tears kept rolling from his eyes... it was a bit stupid to deny that he was crying when it was so obvious that he was.

‘Yeah you are, just tell us why.’

Mycroft shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause.’

Greg frowned. Clearly whatever had upset Mycroft was big; since when did the elder Holmes say ‘’cause’?

‘Mycroft–’

‘Go away!’ Mycroft snapped and snatched the pillow back. He hugged it to his chest, eyes locked onto Greg. ‘Just go away, leave me alone.’ He was aware he sounded like a five-year-old but really Greg had done enough. He was all handsome and perfect and unattainable. What was Mycroft? A forty-five year-old man with a crush who’d had sex twelve times in his life, all with the same man.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Greg said calmly and leaned forward. ‘What’s wrong? It must be serious if Sherlock’s worried.’

Mycroft just glared at him, tears falling down his face and lower lip trembling.

Greg sighed and reached out to touch him.

Mycroft flinched and pressed himself further back into the couch, trying to get away from Greg. No, if the man touched him now Mycroft would lose control and break down completely. He couldn’t feel Greg’s tender touch and then walk away, it would be heartbreaking.

Greg frowned and let his hand drop. ‘Did I do something, Mycroft? Have I upset you in some way?’

‘No... yes... I don’t know.’

‘That’s... confusing,’ Greg managed and wet his lips. Mycroft’s eyes locked onto his mouth. God did Greg have a gorgeous mouth; full lips and a charming smile and just... he really was perfect. ‘Come on, Myc, tell me.’

Myc... _Myc_? Since when was he Myc? He’d never been Myc. To Mummy he was My (and sometimes to Sherlock too when the younger Holmes was less angry at the world and his brother in general). He’d never... not Myc, no, definitely not Myc.

Mycroft’s frown deepened and Greg sighed.

‘Mycroft...’

‘I love you.’

Greg jumped like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes went wide and roamed over Mycroft’s face. ‘Er... what?’

‘I love you,’ Mycroft repeated.

‘O...kay?’

Mycroft glared.

‘So... um, you love me and... that’s making you cry?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. He was so sick of lying, so sick of pining and wanting Greg but not having him. This way it would be out in the open; Mycroft got it off his chest and at least Greg would know why they could no longer talk or occupy the same room or have any communication whatsoever. Because walking away was the only choice Mycroft had.

‘Er... right, well I might not be a Holmes but I really don’t see how loving me is making you cry.’

Mycroft scowled. ‘I love you, Gregory, and you are unavailable.’

‘How?’ Greg asked, looking genuinely curious. ‘I’m not married anymore, I’m single, I’m bi.’

Mycroft blinked. ‘You... you’re bisexual?’

Greg smirked. ‘Didn’t deduce that, huh?’ Mycroft shook his head. ‘Yeah, I’ve always favoured women but I won’t say no to a nice looking man.’ His eyes roamed up Mycroft’s body as he said the words and Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. ‘So... why is loving me making you cry again?’

‘Because I can’t have you!’ Mycroft shouted, Greg jumping again. Mycroft threw the pillow across the living room in annoyance, anger and fear and sadness overwhelming him, fresh tears blurring his vision. ‘I’ve been in love with you since we first met and I can’t... I can’t have you! You’re gorgeous and amazing and beautiful and I’m... I’m not...’ Mycroft finished weakly, folding his arms and hugging them close to his body.

Greg just continued to stare, annoying Mycroft to no end. Couldn’t the man see how hard it was for Mycroft to stay away? How it was tearing Mycroft’s heart apart to be so close to the man yet so far away?

‘Please, just go,’ Mycroft whimpered, ‘I can’t be around you anymore, just leave me alone.’ He sobbed loudly and closed his eyes, body shuddering.

‘Mycroft, is it liking another man that’s freaking you out?’

Mycroft almost smiled. Almost. ‘Gregory, I’m... I’m gay,’ he managed.

‘Right... so not the liking-a-man part. Erm... is it ’cause I’m not refined? Is it ’cause I like beer and Doctor Who and... you know, I’m not posh or anything?’

Mycroft opened his eyes slowly. ‘What? N-no, that’s not why. I like all those things about you.’

Greg just looked more confused. ‘I don’t get it,’ he finally said. ‘You love me and you’re freaking out and crying, not because I’m a man or unrefined or... seriously, you’re confusing me.’

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes again, tears burning behind his lids. ‘Just go,’ he murmured. ‘Leave, please.’ He heard movement and jumped when a warm arm wrapped around him, one of Greg’s hands coming up to grip his chin lightly. ‘Gregory?’ Mycroft murmured, eyes opening. Greg was so close...

‘Shut up, Mycroft,’ Greg said and kissed him.

Mycroft’s brain froze. Not literally, of course, but metaphorically; as in his thoughts stopped completely and his usually finely tuned mind went all fuzzy and sparked and thought something along the lines of, ‘ _OH_ _MY GOD GREG IS KISSING ME!_ ’

And then Greg’s lips parted against Mycroft’s and Mycroft groaned rather loudly. Greg dipped his tongue in, exploring Mycroft’s mouth thoroughly. Mycroft could taste cigarettes and pasta and tears and... there was Greg, hot and wonderful and beautiful and the best thing Mycroft had ever tasted.

Greg pulled back and looked at Mycroft with dark eyes, breathing a lot harder than he had been before the kiss.

‘W-w-what?’ Mycroft managed after a minute, brain still refusing to work properly.

‘You’re an idiot.’ Mycroft just nodded and Greg sighed. ‘Mycroft, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Tell you what?’

‘That you love me.’

Mycroft frowned, brain slowly working back to being functioning. ‘I... why would I do that?’

‘Oh, I dunno,’ Greg said sarcastically, ‘so we could go on a date and kiss and fuck and all that.’

Mycroft felt his face flush. The tears had stopped and been replaced by confusion. ‘I... don’t understand.’

‘I like you too, you idiot.’

‘What?’

‘Might even be love.’

‘Gregory–’

‘Is it love when your insides are all squirmy and flippy when thinking about someone?’

‘I don’t–’

‘Or when your cock goes hard just at the smell of their cologne?’

‘Gregory!’ Mycroft flushed darker and the DI grinned. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together quickly.

‘Myc, you’re an idiot.’

Mycroft’s brain was fuzzy again and he just stared.

‘If you’d told me we could have... Christ, did you really not see that I feel the same way?’

‘W-why would you?’ Mycroft asked, narrowing his eyes as they swept over Greg. This wasn’t happening. Ten minutes ago Mycroft had resigned himself to cutting the DI out of his life. And then there had been kissing and declarations and Greg talking about cocks...

Okay, his brain was definitely working now and it was thinking naughty things.

‘Well, you’re fucking sex as hell for one,’ Greg said and Mycroft blushed, ‘mysterious, powerful, rich, smart, good sense of humour, look good in a suit, sexy–’

‘You’ve said that,’ Mycroft cut him off.

Greg smiled. ‘So you believe me?’

‘No.’

Greg suddenly grabbed his face and pulled Mycroft in for another kiss. It was beautiful and wonderful and hot and Mycroft wanted more. But when Greg pulled him up, Mycroft broke the kiss.

‘What?’ the DI asked. ‘Too fast?’

‘No, I...’ he trailed off, eyes roaming over Greg. ‘You... love me?’

‘I might,’ Greg smiled. ‘I thought the kissing told you that.’

Mycroft just stared.

Greg sighed and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, drawing him in. His warmth, his cologne, was wonderful and doing funny things to Mycroft’s stomach and... other areas.

‘Mycroft,’ he said slowly, ‘believe me when I say that I like you; I want to date you and kiss you and have sex with you. I’ve wanted to do this even before my marriage ended but I thought you’d never go for someone like me. Now that I know how you feel...’ he trailed off before gulping, looking up at Mycroft with wide, earnest eyes. ‘Please believe me when I say that I love you.’

Mycroft stared at him; searched his eyes and face and body for any signs that he was lying, that he was deceiving Mycroft.

He found none. Greg’s body language, his eyes, the way he held Mycroft close... it all pointed to Greg telling the truth.

‘Why... why would you love me?’ Mycroft asked.

‘We’ve been over that.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘Hmm...’ Greg said and trailed a hand down Mycroft’s shirt, making the politician shiver. ‘Well let me prove it.’ He captured Mycroft’s lips in another searing kiss before the other man could protest.

Mycroft groaned and melted against the older man, body feeling weak yet alive with joy and pleasure and a million other things at the same time. He was actually kissing Greg, Gregory Lestrade, DI Gregory Johnathan Lestrade, the man he had been pining after for so long.

Greg dragged Mycroft in the direction he figured the bedroom would be. They were sloppy lips and tongues as they fell onto Mycroft’s rather impressive bed, Greg straddling Mycroft’s hips and rutting against him.

Mycroft moaned as Greg worked on his buttons, biting and sucking on Mycroft’s neck as he worked. He continued to press his erection into Mycroft’s own, the politician worrying he’d come right then and there. It _had_ been over twenty years, after all.

Luckily Greg shuffled back to kick his shoes and socks off, unbuckling his trousers and letting them and his boxers pool on the floor. Mycroft stared, mouth gaping wide as his eyes roamed over a stark naked Gregory Lestrade.

He was... Mycroft had never seen a more perfect man. He was soft yet hard, with lovely tanned skin, a flat stomach, and dark chest hair that trailed down his stomach to his crotch. His cock was... good Lord, it was hard and leaking just for Mycroft.

Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on Greg as the DI removed him of his clothing. There was something very sensual and very, very arousing about Greg undressing Mycroft slowly. He started with the shoes, undoing the laces quickly before throwing them over his shoulders. The socks were next before Greg was running both hands up Mycroft’s legs, the politician shuddering as Greg started on his belt.

He let the leather fall through his fingers before tugging, Mycroft lifting his hips so he could be relieved of his trousers. Mycroft gulped when Greg unbuttoned his shirt, warm and calloused hands running up his stomach, his chest, before he helped Mycroft slip from the silk.

Mycroft was suddenly being kissed again and dear Lord how wonderful was _that_? Gregory Lestrade was the best kisser Mycroft had ever encountered. Granted, he’d only kissed about four people in his life but still... Greg was definitely number one on Mycroft’s list. He only hoped he wasn’t on the bottom of Greg’s.

Greg hooked his fingers under the waistband of Mycroft’s underwear and looked up at him for permission. Mycroft nodded and Greg stripped him right down to his birthday suit before standing back to look.

Mycroft knew he wasn’t good looking. He was pale and ginger, with a soft stomach and weak legs and–

‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ Greg said and licked his lips, eyes roaming up and down Mycroft’s body, staying locked onto his throbbing cock for a good twenty seconds.

‘W-what?’

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘I said you’re gorgeous; beautiful, wonderful, absolutely stunning.’

Mycroft felt heat crawl up his face and it just got darker as Greg climbed onto the bed, pressing kisses to Mycroft’s thighs, his stomach, licking a trail all the way up to his nipples. Mycroft groaned embarrassingly loudly an bucked up as Greg sucked back on his right nipple, lips hard and teeth scraping and–

‘Oh God,’ Mycroft moaned.

Greg grinned and kissed his way up to Mycroft’s face, crushing their lips together, tongues dancing and breathing spiked. ‘You like that?’

‘Uh... uh-huh.’

Greg smiled and went back to sucking on Mycroft’s nipples, alternating between each one and tweaking the free one with one hand as his other wrapped around Mycroft’s dripping cock.

‘Oh God,’ Mycroft gasped again, thrusting up into the touch and squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn’t felt anything other than his own hand in twenty years. Gregory’s hand was... it was very, very nice. Greg gave him a particularly hard twist and Mycroft groaned even louder, pain being misinterpreted as pleasure and making his already aching cock twitch even more. ‘G-Greg...’

‘More?’ Greg asked, teeth teasing around Mycroft’s left nipple.

‘Please!’

Greg twisted again, a little harder this time, while at the same time biting around the other nipple hard enough to leave marks. Mycroft just grunted even louder, fingers twisting in his own hair as he gave in to the pleasure assaulting his body.

Greg continued to twist and bite, leaving love-bites all over Mycroft’s chest and stomach, skin flaming red beneath his teeth. Mycroft’s eyes were tearing up against the pain but it all felt really good to him. Greg stopped to look up and frowned when he saw Mycroft’s state; face flushed, tears slipping down his cheeks.

‘Myc?’

‘F-fine, I’m fine,’ Mycroft assured him. ‘Just... over-overwhelming.’

‘Do you wanna stop?’

‘Not bloody likely,’ Mycroft said and hauled Greg up for a kiss. Greg grinned against his lips, nipping on Mycroft’s bottom one and sucking it into his mouth. Mycroft groaned, fisting a hand in Greg’s hair and arching into him, bodies hot and sweaty against each other. ‘G-Greg, I need... more!’

‘More?’ Greg questioned.

‘More everything,’ Mycroft groaned, sucking on Greg’s tongue. ‘More touching and kissing and biting and please do _something_!’

Greg grinned and licked across Mycroft’s jaw before scratching his nails down the politician’s arm, the taller man immediately pushing into the contact. It seemed Mycroft liked a bit of pain and Greg wasted no time in leaving long red lines down his arms, his chest, before flipping him over.

He pushed his weeping erection between Mycroft’s cheeks, the elder Holmes groaning and burying his face in a pillow. Greg slapped that gorgeous arse he’d admired for so long, Mycroft’s moans getting louder and a lot ruder.

Greg slapped a bit harder before digging his fingers in, knowing he’d leave marks, but Mycroft seemed to love it. He tried to push up but Greg had him pinned, thighs pressing tightly either side of him.

‘What’s that, Mycroft?’ Greg asked after a particularly filthy sentence.

‘N-nothing,’ Mycroft said and Greg could tell he was blushing; he _sounded_ like he was blushing.

‘No, that was something,’ Greg said and pinched Mycroft’s gorgeous arse. ‘Did you want another slap?’

‘M-maybe,’ Mycroft admitted softly. Greg slapped him harder than before while at the same time grinding his hips, cock sliding between Mycroft’s cheeks. ‘Jesus Fucking Christ!’

Greg leaned forward to bite down where Mycroft’s shoulder met his neck, biting deeply and sucking back to leave a large bruise. Mycroft groaned and fidgeted beneath him but Greg knew he didn’t really want it to stop. He was thrusting back, trying to get Greg’s cock into him.

‘G-Greg, please...’ Mycroft moaned.

Funny what a few kisses and pain could do to the man who practically _was_ the British Government. He turned from a fine, polite, posh gentleman into a writhing, whimpering mess of need.

‘What do you want, Myc?’ Greg asked, bending so he could place soft kisses to Mycroft’s sweaty and red face.

‘Fuck me, please.’

‘Have you had sex before?’ Greg asked, wanting to make sure he didn’t hurt Mycroft. He sat up enough so he could turn Mycroft over and look him in the eyes.

‘Not in a while,’ Mycroft admitted, blushing that little bit more.

‘How long?’

‘Erm...’

‘Myc?’

Mycroft sighed and looked down. ‘Twenty-five years,’ he mumbled.

Greg frowned, wondering why that was. Mycroft was sexy as hell and rich, powerful, influential... surely people threw themselves at him?

He leaned down to kiss Mycroft again, their lips bruised and swollen. ‘We don’t have to,’ he said softly, ‘we can just touch–’

‘No!’ Mycroft cut him off. ‘I want you to fuck me, now, please.’

Greg smiled and drew back. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you have condoms and lube?’

Mycroft suddenly paled, eyes filled with terror. ‘Oh my God.’

‘What?’ Greg asked.

‘I don’t have condoms!’ Mycroft shouted and slapped his hands over his face. ‘Why don’t I have condoms, how could I not... why is this happening to me?’ he shouted before groaning.

‘Mycroft–’

‘I don’t have anything!’ Mycroft continued, completely ignoring Greg. ‘But I need you and I don’t... I can’t _believe_ this!’

‘Myc–’

‘Of course I don’t have any goddamn condoms, I haven’t had sex in two decades!’ Mycroft fumed, babbling now. ‘And the one chance I bloody get is with you and I don’t have anything and fucking hell–’

Greg cut him off with a kiss, Mycroft moaning into his mouth. ‘Shut up for two seconds, alright?’ Mycroft looked like he wanted to continue berating himself but pressed his lips together. ‘I’m clean and if you are too we don’t need condoms.’

Mycroft stared at him.

‘Hey, it’s just a suggestion,’ Greg shrugged. ‘We can always rut against each other like I said before.’

‘No, I want you to fuck me,’ Mycroft said firmly. ‘I’m... I’m clean.’

‘Good,’ Greg smiled and kissed him again. ‘Now, we need lube...’ He pulled back and smiled at Mycroft.

It took Mycroft a few seconds to get what Greg was asking and then he was grinning. He sat up and Greg rolled onto his back, watching Mycroft as the politician got to his knees. Mycroft hovered over Greg’s crotch, piercing blue eyes roaming over him and committing everything to memory. He tilted his head slightly, eyes resting on Greg’s length.

Mycroft moved quickly, suddenly clasping Greg’s cock in pale fingers. Greg’s moan got louder as Mycroft pulled on his leaking cock, swiping a thumb across the head and spreading pre-come. He shouted when Mycroft bent down to wrap hot, wet lips around his shaft, sucking back quickly and swirling his tongue.

‘Jesus, Myc!’ he groaned, thrusting up into the wet cavern, trying to get more heat and friction and just more Mycroft. ‘God, more!’

Mycroft smiled around him and closed his eyes slightly, twisting his fingers around Greg’s shaft every time he pulled back. He swallowed pre-come, enjoying the saltiness and the fact that it was Greg he was tasting; it was Greg he was sucking off and it was Greg who was moaning and thrusting up. An hour ago Mycroft had been having some type of breakdown and now... well now was a hell of a lot better.

‘Mycroft, God, can I fuck you now?’ Greg demanded.

Mycroft let Greg fall from his lips with a wet pop, sitting back on his heels. ‘How... how do you want me?’ he asked and blushed.

Greg grinned and sat up to kiss him softly, tasting himself on Mycroft’s lips. ‘On your back, I want to watch you while I fuck you.’

Mycroft groaned and did as asked, falling so he could lean against his soft and expensive pillows. He spread his legs, feeling nervous as Greg moved between them. Greg sucked back on his own fingers, Mycroft watching with rapt attention as the DI coated his skin in saliva before shifting again.

Greg looked up at Mycroft as he circled the politician’s entrance, Mycroft flinching before relaxing slowly. Greg waited until Mycroft had nodded before pushing in, quickly breaching the tight ring of muscle and being swallowed by Mycroft’s tight heat.

He groaned loudly and so did Mycroft, both men taking a second to enjoy the heat and pressure and everything. Greg began moving slowly, taking his time to stretch and prepare Mycroft so the sex would be more pleasure then pain... though Mycroft _did_ seem to like pain...

Greg forced two more fingers in and Mycroft yelped before thrusting himself down, trying to drag Greg’s fingers deeper in. Greg chuckled and curled them to touch that one spot–

‘Fuck!’ Mycroft shouted and pushed down again, now panting heavily and clawing at the bed beneath him. ‘Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!’

‘Guess it was stupid to prepare you, what with you liking pain and all.’

‘I do not... _oh_... like– _fuck_! P-pain,’ Mycroft stuttered, words contradicted by the way he was spasming on Greg’s fingers. And then the DI twisted a nipple and Mycroft whimpered.

‘Yeah you do,’ Greg said and withdrew his fingers.

‘No!’ Mycroft whined.

‘I thought you wanted me to fuck you?’

Mycroft seemed half torn between wanting just what the DI had said and getting his fingers back. He clawed at his own legs for a minute before nodding.

Greg smiled and grabbed Mycroft’s legs, forcing them apart as he lined himself up. He looked up to watch Mycroft’s face as he sank into the man, quickly engulfed in heat and tightness. Mycroft’s eyes squeezed shut and he groaned loudly, back arching off the bed as Greg entered him completely. He bit his lip and breathed heavily before moaning and dropping back down onto the bed.

‘You okay?’ Greg asked, running his hands up and down Mycroft’s sides soothingly.

Mycroft caught his fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing each knuckle delicately before sucking a finger into his mouth. Greg groaned as Mycroft sucked and nipped at his finger, twirling his tongue around the tip. When he finally let go he smirked and said, ‘Does that answer your question?’

‘Guh,’ Greg managed before he was hauling Mycroft up for a kiss, mashing their mouths together and doing thoroughly dirty things to his tongue. He moved to kiss along Mycroft’s jaw before moving to his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and licking.

‘Greg,’ Mycroft moaned.

Greg pulled out a little and caught Mycroft’s lips again just as he pushed back in. Mycroft grunted into his mouth, letting out a breath of air that made Greg’s skin tingle. He continued kissing Mycroft even as he stared thrusting, the angle meaning he couldn’t sink in too deeply.

Neither man cared as they rutted against each other slowly, exchanging sloppy kisses as their bodies got hotter and hotter.

Mycroft had never felt or tasted anything as delicious as Gregory Lestrade. The man was hot and hard against him, face flushed as he sucked at Mycroft’s lips or face, pressing kisses to his lips and jaw and chin and _everywhere_.

His chest was rubbing against Mycroft’s, nipples grazing together and causing little sparks of pleasure through Mycroft’s upper body. Greg had his strong arms wrapped around Mycroft, nails digging into his back as he tried to keep him up. Each grasp, each nail, each gorgeous little movement was setting Mycroft’s teeth on edge. His brain was going fuzzy trying to note and store everything; the way Greg’s skin boiled against his own, the breathy moans the older man was making, the way his cock slid into Mycroft at just the right speed and angle.

Mycroft’s back was aching from the strain but he cared very little about that. He cared very little about anything that wasn’t a naked Gregory Lestrade pressed up against him.

Greg had moved back to his lips and they kissed passionately, Mycroft moving a hand through the DI’s short, silvery hair, twisting the strands as best he could and yanking whenever Greg thrust in a little more forcefully then before.

‘Mycroft,’ he groaned into the politician’s mouth, eyes fluttering open and closed as he battled with the pleasures assaulting his body.

Mycroft did little more than grunt, his cock sliding against Greg’s sweaty stomach to add another touch of sweet, sweet pleasure to his already aching body.

Suddenly Greg was throwing him down and Mycroft’s body thrummed at the contact, at the rough way Greg gripped his arms as he bent over to kiss him. The added pressure just made him moan louder, ungodly sounds leaving his mouth as Greg thrust back in.

His cock was big and long and doing everything in its power to drive Mycroft absolutely mad with delight. Greg stretched Mycroft’s muscles beautifully, made the younger man ache and burn in ways he hadn’t experienced in years.

‘Harder,’ Mycroft begged.

‘Thrusts or...’ Greg trailed off and squeezed Mycroft’s arms tightly.

‘B-both,’ Mycroft gasped as Greg thrust hard, cock hitting his prostate. He was practically purring now, aching with the need to be filled and completely manhandled by Gregory Lestrade. ‘Hold me down, press against me, God, please!’ Mycroft shouted.

Greg pressed his entire body weight down on Mycroft, forcing him harder into the mattress. He had to snap and roll his hips to continue fucking Mycroft and it sent more stabs of pleasure through the politician’s body.

‘Like that?’ Greg grunted, licking his ear.

‘God, yes!’ Mycroft moaned, arching into the contact. He was feeling wonderfully filled, barely able to move as Greg held him down and pressed all around him, every inch of their bodies touching in any way possible. ‘Yes, yes, yes...’ Mycroft gasped as Greg bit him again, teeth sinking into his shoulder and threatening to break the skin. ‘G-God, m-more...’

Greg’s pace was faster now, his own grunts adding to Mycroft’s. Sweat was dripping down his brow as he fought to keep thrusting into Mycroft with abandon, pounding into the man like they’d never have sex again; like this was their only chance to be together. He wanted Mycroft to remember this for days to come; he wanted the bruises and aches and teeth marks to remind Mycroft that he’d been fucked hard into an orgasm.

‘You’re mine,’ Greg growled, Mycroft moaning beneath him. He thrust in harder, rutting their bodies together to add friction to Mycroft’s trapped cock. ‘I want you to remember this when you can’t sit down tomorrow.’

Mycroft moaned.

‘I want you to remember how I controlled you when you try to hide these bites.’ He sunk his teeth in again, sucking back on the pale skin of Mycroft’s neck. Even through his lust-soaked brain he knew better then to leave marks that would be visible above Mycroft’s collar. ‘Hear me?’

‘Y-y...’ It seemed Mycroft was no longer capable of speech and he just nodded.

‘Remember this,’ Greg hissed against his ear before sucking Mycroft’s lips into his mouth. He moved back to hover over the politician, thrusting more forcefully and hitting Mycroft’s prostate each time. Mycroft writhed and moaned, thrashed and cursed and tried to shout Greg’s name. His face was bright red, his rust coloured hair wonderfully dishevelled and he had sweat clinging to his skin everywhere Greg looked.

Greg reached down and wrapped a hand around Mycroft’s cock, pulling in time with his forceful thrusts.

‘I want you to scream my name when you come,’ Greg ordered, swiping at the head of Mycroft’s cock with each twist of his wrist. ‘I want to hear you shout my name.’

Mycroft moaned and Greg saw his eyes flitter shut, his teeth clench and his stomach muscles tighten. He thrust in harder than before, his own climax approaching like a tidal wave.

‘Come on, Myc, scream for me,’ Greg said.

Mycroft groaned.

‘Come for me.’

Mycroft grunted, eyes tearing up as his orgasm approached faster and faster and–

‘I love you,’ Greg told him.

Mycroft tightened around him and came, thrusting himself off the bed as he climaxed all over his stomach. Greg fisted his cock quickly, drawing out the orgasm for Mycroft even as he continued to fuck him.

‘Gregory!’ Mycroft shouted. ‘Greg, Greg, Greg, Gr... G...’ He continued to mumble Greg’s name even as he fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily and biting his bottom lip. The orgasm was like nothing Mycroft had ever felt before. Every nerve, every muscle, every bone and atom in his fucking body exploded with light and pleasure. All he could do was let it wash over him and chase away every ache and pain, everything that had ever troubled him or caused him anger. Everything was good and wonderful and Gregory had made him feel that.

Greg dropped Mycroft’s cock and grabbed his hips, nails digging in as he fucked Mycroft with abandon. Mycroft just managed to open his eyes as Greg came, shouting Mycroft’s name and emptying himself into the politician. He shuddered, hips jerking once, twice, before he fell to lay atop Mycroft, panting heavily, body thrumming.

‘Mm,’ Mycroft murmured and shifted, rolling Greg onto his back. The DI blinked and managed to open his eyes, dark brown and so wonderful. He smiled at Mycroft, still breathing heavily.

‘’Lo.’

Mycroft smiled and rubbed tears from his eyes. ‘Hello.’

‘Mm, that was... mm,’ Greg managed with a goofy smile. He’d never looked so adorable and Mycroft’s exhausted body hummed when he realised he could now kiss Greg and hold him and just touch him. He rolled over to do all that, showering the DI in sloppy kisses and pets. Greg just smiled and kissed back before, somehow, he managed to get up.

‘Where you... going?’ Mycroft mumbled, hand already falling to the bed as Greg disappeared.

‘Towel,’ Greg said and came back with one. He mopped them both up, dropping the towel on the floor with their clothes before getting back on the bed. Both were too hot for the blankets so they kicked them aside and cuddled under the sheets, Mycroft was his head resting on the DI’s chest, Greg lazily running a hand through Mycroft’s hair.

It took them at least twenty minutes to get their breathing under control, another twenty before their bodies stopped feeling like furnaces. Though their sweat had dried up, Greg realised his chest was still wet. He shifted and heard a sniff.

‘Mycroft?’

Another sniff.

Greg shifted so he could look down at Mycroft and was alarmed to see tears coating the politician’s face.

‘Mycroft? Why are you crying?’

Mycroft sniffed again and looked up at Greg. The DI was worried, hands finding Mycroft’s face and rubbing at the tears.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, aware that Mycroft’s stomach and chest and arms... well, he was covered in bruises and bite marks, red stripes having been scratched into his skin by Greg’s fingernails. ‘Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry–’

‘No, no,’ Mycroft said quickly, ‘you did everything right.’

‘So why–’

‘I’m happy,’ Mycroft said and watched a small smile tug at Greg’s lips.

‘Happy?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded.

Greg smiled properly and swiped Mycroft’s tears away. ‘So tears of joy, huh?’

‘Happiness, joy, whatever you want to call it,’ Mycroft said and leaned up. Their lips pressed together softly.

And then the tears were gone.

 

{THE END}

****


End file.
